Page 124 of Nyx

She's a very serious person and, by most accounts, doesn't have much going on in her life right now that would make her laugh.

"What?" she asks, gauging my response.

"I like that sound," I confess.

"Did I snort?" she asks, lifting her hand to cover her mouth in embarrassment.

"Your laughter," I clarify. "It's nice."

Her cheeks heat, that rosy color climbing up her face.

I like that, too, but I don't say that out loud.

"Not to question it, but what's so funny?"

She looks back toward the SUVs parked in the driveway and along the street before looking back at me.

"I tell you I need to stop by the store, and you offer an SUV, like I'm going to load it up," she explains. "I only shop for a few days at a time."

Her answer is simple enough, but the understanding behind it is what concerns me.

She doesn't buy furniture or personal items for her apartment. She has a go-bag at both doors. She only shops for a few days at a time.

She isn't building a life in Farmington. She's waiting until something bad enough happens that will cause her to leave.

I know she was highly encouraged to stay so we could protect her, but she's been running for years, trying to stay ahead of Whitmore, and a lot of times, people stick with what's familiar to them.

Putting her trust in anyone but herself might seem impossible. She did that once, and the man who was supposed to protect her at all costs was the one hurting her.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

"No," I assure her. "I'll be right behind you."

Instead of arguing, she gives me a weak smile before checking her car and climbing inside.

She waits for me to get into the SUV before pulling away from the curb, and to my surprise, she heads to a small locally owned grocery store rather than a big box retailer.

The parking lot is darker than it would be in a more populated place, and I have no doubt the security cameras on the poles haven't worked in years. A lot of times, places like this are never even wired because the owner is operating on the hope that just the sight of them is enough to deter crime on their property.

The good thing about a place like this is that it's easier to monitor, easier to know who is inside and who might enter while we're there.

Another bad thing, I realize as I park beside her and turn off the engine, is that the store's front glass is covered with signage, making it impossible to see what's going on inside. It tells me that once we get inside, the parking lot won't be easily visible either.

Instead of mentioning it to her and possibly increasing her fear when I climb out and stand by her driver's side door, I tell myself that I just need to be a little more vigilant.

"I'll only be a few minutes," she tells me as she grabs her purse.

"What?"

"Inside," she says. "I won't take long."

"You're not going in alone," I say, almost a little too fast.

Her brows draw together as if her first instinct is to remind me that she's grown and can make her own choices, but something must flash in her mind because she doesn't argue.

"Okay," she says. "If you come along, I won't feel the need to rush."

I keep my head on a swivel as we walk across the parking lot. The sun hasn't fully set yet, but the sky is already turning shades of pink and orange. The entire area will be cast into darkness in less than half an hour, but I'm not foolish enough to think that bad things only happen in the darkness.